the best cake i've ever made...and no, it's not chocolate!

Yesterday I headed to a local farm to purchase peas and strawberries, and came home contemplating where I should take these foods...

The peas: I stir-fried them with green garlic, spring onions, yellow pepper, and tofu, and served over coconut bulgur. I bit into the fat shiny pea pod and realized these peas were meant to be out of the pod, as the pod was too fibrous to eat. I slipped the peas out of their jackets and enjoyed my dinner.

The coconut bulgur was an experiment--I was planning on making coconut brown rice but was too hungry to wait the obligatory 50 minutes for rice. The bulgur made a lovely substitution, and the leftovers made a delicious breakfast. I added walnuts, cinnamon, flax oil, maple syrup, and shredded coconut for a tasty alternative to my daily oatmeal.

But I digress. I promised cake...

The strawberries: so glossy and red, they are delicious eaten plain, but I was besotted with visions of a towering strawberry cream cake, all red and white and luscious. I pored over all my cookbooks and, as usual, settled on a recipe from the illustrious Dorie Greenspan, an aptly titled Party Cake. I read the recipe, called my friend B to see if she and her fam wanted to join me for cake on Sunday afternoon, and then strategized. I cut out parchment circles for my cake pans, read over the recipe, and went to bed with visions of berry goodness dancing in my head...

After enjoying the aforementioned bulgur for breakfast, I walked to the closest thing to a market, a Kwik Trip gas station to buy a tiny bottle of whole milk (for the cake) and a Sunday Chicago Trib. I brewed a mug of strong coffee and tied on my summer apron, and I was ready.

The cake is fairly simply to make, and in no time the layers were baking, and I was slicing berries into a sauce pan to make a quick jam. This was good practice for my upcoming BerryJam 08, in which I will can 8-12 jars of strawberry jam to carry me through a year without fresh, local berries. The cake was golden, the jam bubbling, as I made not one but two types of frosting, following Dorie's suggestions for playing around. I made a simple vanilla buttercream (the kind without eggs) and a mock creme fraiche (whipped cream + greek yogurt).

As the layers and jam cooled I pressed my new vintage hostess apron, which features a red sash and a charming strawberry print. I carefully assembled the cake, slicing the layers horizontal to make a four layer cake, and spreading jam and buttercream between each layer (they ended up blending all into one). I enrobed the cake with the mock creme fraiche and then carefully arranged strawberry halves in concentric circles on top of the cake like so many sparkling rubies. A final berry in the middle of the cake was framed with mint leaves. Ahhh. I traded my "work" apron for my berry apron and relaxed.

I took about 5 pictures of my masterpiece, but since my camera is antiquated (i.e. 1999), you will have to wait for pics. The cake had just enough time to set before my guests arrived. What joy to share a cool, overcast summer Sunday with good friends and delicious cake! Perhaps a new tradition is in order? I think back to my great grandma, Cookie Grandma, who entertained the family every Sunday after church. I don't know if I could make such a treat every week, but maybe once a month we could gather for our own version of food, fellowship, and faith.

uncovering the process

photo of tank car full of corn syrup courtesy of wikipedia

Yesterday I watched the documentary King Corn, an interesting peek into the world of corn growing and corn ubiquity. Did you know that the typical American's carbon profile is largely corn based? As the movie illustrates, a great portion of the SAD (Standard American Diet) is corn based, from added starch, flour, meal, to the primarily corn fed meat in our food supply, and, most significantly, the heretofore cheap sweetener, HFCS (high fructose corn syrup). The problem is that in its processed forms, corn is not very nutritious, and so much of the food in the SAD is composed of poor to empty calories.

I've been on a "eat as few processed foods as possible" kick for the past several years, and I'm mostly pleased with my dietary choices, but I'm thinking about doing a little experiment and cutting out as much processed food as I can. Last night I started listing foods I eat on a daily basis, and trying to determine the degree of processing so I can figure out what I need to eat instead. The problem is deciding what level of processing is acceptable for the purposes of my experiment, since most of the foods I eat are at least minimally processed...for example...

No Processing
fresh fruits and veggies, in their whole, natural state
fresh herbs
eggs
water
dry beans
dry whole grains in their natural state

Minimal Processing
milk
orange juice, 100% pure, not from concentrate
coffee
spices
grains that have been processed, like rolled or steel cut oats, flours
raw sugar
honey
maple syrup
wine
nuts
canned beans
cheese
yogurt
tea

More Processing
Boxed cereals
breads
tortillas
crackers
corn chips
pasta, couscous
chocolate

And these are most of the foods that I eat on a daily basis. What I'm thinking of doing is making all items (except for chocolate) in the "More Processing" category from scratch. And, I'm thinking of switching to steel cut oats or another less processed grain than rolled oats for my breakfast, making my own yogurt, and cooking my own beans from the dried state to make a difference in the "Minimally Processing" category.

Any suggestions for me? Am I missing something here? Am I categorizing a certain food the wrong way? How long do you think I should run my experiement?

berry update

I bought a quart of berries today at a seasonal market next to a liquor store that is also, inexplicably, selling fireworks.

I washed and sliced and sugared the berries and set them to rest while I baked shortcake and whipped heavy cream with a sprinkle of sugar and a hint of vanilla. Warm cake, juicy berries, luscious cream...

delicious, but a little disappointing. Yesterday's berries from B. were better, and I'm glad I only bought one quart today. Saturday I'll stock up on the farmer's market berries that B. brought, and make my fave berry dessert, a French tart via the incomparable Dorie Greenspan, whose baking books are indispensable.

berry bliss

1890 watercolor painting from wikipedia, from the National Agricultural Library of the United States Department of Agriculture's Agricultural Research Service.

I've waxed poetic about strawberries before...and I've been waiting a very long time, about 11 months, to experience berry bliss yet again. I was worried that the torrential rainfall and flooding would drown the berries or turn them into a watery mess, but behold, the season's first fruit...

My friend B brought me a handful of berries from the farmer's market (which I missed because I was teaching Upward Bound students how to read a poem), and I waited until after dinner to taste the first one. The color--plush red. The fragrance--warm and floral. The texture--melting and soft. The flavor--delicate, nuanced, and sweet. Ahhh!

And so I tucked the remaining berries back in the fridge, and when I returned home from class (teaching college students the satiric pleasures of Candide), I spooned some plain cream top brown cow yogurt in a bowl, topped it with sliced berries, and a sprinkle of turbinado sugar. Oh holy bliss.

A few weeks ago I had a conversation with a colleague about why I only eat local strawberries. She was confused and I don't think my tentative explanations--of something I'm so passionate about--made a dent in her consciousness. How do I have food politics discussions without seeming pretentious or elitist? How can I communicate my passion for eating locally, seasonally, ecologically, and deliciously, without alienating people I care about in some capacity, and don't want to offend?

And I'm saddened that the berries don't speak for themselves. How many people have REALLY tasted a strawberry as it's meant to taste? Not bred for travel and color only, not communicated via "natural" or artificial flavors, but the berry itself, in its most berry-ness state of being.

I want, to quote Alice Waters, a delicious revolution for everyone. And berry bliss galore:)

soy delicious: smart dogs

So, today when I was in Mil-town with B. we went to Outpost Natural Foods to stock up on some hippie-groceries. While I threw a little fit that the only edamame were from China (c'mon, don't we grow enough soybeans here in the USA?) and refused to buy them, I scooped up a package of Smart Dogs. Now, I usually steer clear of soy-meat-fakery, but there's something about a warm summer day that begs for retro picnic fare.

Since I don't have a grill, I broiled the 'dog, toasted a Natural Ovens 100% Whole Grain bun, added sliced dill pickles and vidalia onions, with a side of Krunchers and vegetarian baked beans, and a glass of Crios Torrontes, and tasted SUMMER. I am constantly amazed at the power of foods to speak of season or place or memory.

the deluge continues...

Tornado warnings. Tornado shelters. Not being a comforting, responsible adult in front of my students (but, hey, they're adults too, right?). Discussing Candide as the skies rage.

I worry about the strawberries, that they'll be water logged and wasted and it will be another year before I experience berry bliss.

I worry about the people whose homes and businesses and livelihoods are damaged or destroyed.

I worry about the connection between extreme weather and climate change.

Thunder rumbling throughout my body. Lightening illuminating the sky. Rain pouring down.

I love curling up under a soft fleecy blanket or a crocheted throw, made by my grandmothers.

I love losing myself in an intricate novel.

I love the soothing comfort of a hot cup of tea and nowhere to go.

x-rated: pink passion

Here's a little summer fun:

1 shot of X-Rated (a lovely pink "fusion" of vodka, blood orange, mango, and passion fruit, colored with carmine--still not sure how I feel about that)
a nice pour of Simply Limeade
a splash of tonic water

Tart, refreshing, pink, and tasty. And with the name, a little naughty too.

soup primavera

from dharmagirl's kitchen:

Today I finally cooked a small package of flageolets that my mom purchased for me at Dean and Deluca. Flageolets, according to Mark Bittman, are very young kidney beans. Uncooked, they're pale green, narrow, with only a hint at a kidney shape. They have a light, delicate flavor. I followed Bittman's directions for soaked, quick-cooked beans which worked beautifully. I covered the beans with 2 inches of cold water; boiled for 2 minutes; let stand, covered, off the heat for two hours; then brought to a boil again; and finally, simmered until tender-ish, and only then added salt and pepper. I've recently learned that adding salt to beans too early in the cooking process makes for a tough bean.

Then, I had a giant pot of beans and I wasn't sure what to do. I decided to make a farmer's market soup. I heated olive oil in the bottom of my soup pot, added thin slices of garlic, chopped spring onion, and small rounds of asparagus, which I sauteed briefly. I then added water and brought the mixture to a boil. I threw in a handful of amish egg noodles and set the timer for 8 minutes. When the timer binged, I added a generous ladleful of flageolets, a splash of whole milk, salt, and copious amounts of black pepper. Just before I served the soup I added spinach and a dusting of parmesan. The soup was surprisingly good, and would've only been better with some herbal infusion or a splash of lemon juice, which I easily could've done, but didn't.

I toasted up my last cheddar scallion biscuit, made a simple green salad, and enjoyed my very GREEN, my very Spring soup, and my delicious, slow food meal.

Incidentally, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, a flageolet is also "small wind instrument, having a mouthpiece at one end, six principal holes, and sometimes keys."

fish stories

painting of Walleye, by Timothy Knepp, in the public domain

On my evening walk, I came upon a group of adolescent boys fishing from a small bridge over a sort of pond area. The water was rushing, roiling, running high after a weekend of seemingly endless rain. The boys' red flyer wagon was piled high with fish as long as the wagon bed, stacked on top of one another, their mouths forming perfect O's and--gasp--still moving. Right after I walked past, I heard a solid thud and turned around to see that one of the top fish had flopped out of the wagon--out of sheer will to live? desperation to return to the water? an involuntary convulsion?-- and landed on the sidewalk, much to the boys' consternation.

I think back to the series of goldfish I had as pets when I was in elementary school, and remember vividly the time I had two fish in a small glass bowl on top of my dresser. One morning I woke and started to feed the fish before school; quelle horror! only one active fish flipping around the bowl. I looked around the dresser for the missing fish, only to find a small crimson body on the floor near my feet.

More reasons I'm a vegetarian?

wet wisconsin weekend: polka mass and breakfast on the farm

This weekend has overflowed with rain, but more importantly, with Wisconsin Culture. My new state of residence has many rich traditions that I've been fortunate enough to witness.

Yesterday I attended Polka Mass with my friends A and The Beard. A explained afterwards that many parts of the mass are usually quieter, encouraging more serious reflection, but with the oompa-loompa of the polka band, the entire mass seemed a jolly affair. The church was packed--kids wearing Packers jerseys, cute old couples wielding umbrellas, and nuns wearing an abbreviated, modern habit.

Check out this YouTube video clip for a taste of polka mass:


After dancing at a colleague's retirement party and staying up entirely too late skimming an improbable and highly transparently plotted romance novel, I fell into a half-sleep, awaking early this morning ruing the two glasses of inexpensive wine I indulged in at the aforementioned soiree. I brewed a mug of strong, thick coffee, and pulled out my raincoat, stuffing my trusty 35 mm camera and tracfone in the pockets. I met A and The Beard, as well as A's parents, for our next Wisconsin adventure: Breakfast on the Farm.
courtesy of the Wisconsin Milk Marketing Board


This annual event usually draws upwards of 5,000 participants, who line up for shuttles on yellow and black school buses comandeered by jokesters with Yooper accents, pay six dollars to receive a cow handstamp and a dairy-centric breakfast, and dine on the farm.

We dodged raindrops as we scurried into the Feeding Barn, where men stirred huge skillets of eggs to a gooey scramble, studded with diced ham and cemented with copious amounts of cheese. Women doled out generous portions of eggs, and servers also offered handfuls of cheese cubes, segments, and curds; cinnamon bread with fresh butter pats; cherry flavored donut holes; and egg-cellent accoutrements. Another tent featured dishes of vanilla ice cream topped with strawberries or the farm's own maple syrup.

We trekked through rivulets of mud and thickening crowds to a sturdy tent filled with picnic tables, and sat down to enjoy the mostly bovine-produced repast. A cheerful band stopped playing old standards just long enough to introduce the family of the farm, as well as crown the dairy princesses and Alice-in-Dairyland.

I watched as families sat down together to share food, boy scouts wandered the aisles in search of empty plates to throw away, and young people proudly wearing FFA, 4H, and/or John Deere gear congregated on the sidelines. I felt thankful that these young people will carry on the largely invisible, under-appreciated, grossly underpaid, and altogether vital work of feeding us for the next generation

We wandered to a beautiful tall red barn where local vendors displayed pamphlets and disseminated information about dairy and other agriculture issues, and barn swallows tweeted and twittered from one rafter to the next. Here I learned that my adopted county has 6,000 more cows than humans.

As I rode the bus back to the parking lot, I felt homesick--struck by the beauty and deep, rich culture of this place that still doesn't feel like home. I still feel like an outsider, a cultural anthropologist of sorts, with my heart and soul still somewhat unattached from this place and its very kind people.

Last night one of my colleagues stated that my new home and Holland, where I grew up, are very similar. He then revised his statement to use Muskegon as his Western Michigan point of reference, and in some ways I can see the connection: the manufacturing history, the flight from manufacturing, the prevalence of Christianity, agricultural links, and strong ties to European heritage. But somehow, it seems much more different to me--the prevalence of sports culture (Green Bay Packers), the different version of Christian faith (Catholicism versus Christian Reformed), the more progressive politics (though no less confounding than the conservatism of Western Michigan). And where am I in this comparison? At times firmly aligned with one place or the other, and at times aligned with someplace far away. The process of acculturation is long, slow, and filled with tumultuous emotions and surprising discoveries, and I hope this summer offers me more moments of cultural richness in which I can connect more fully to the spirit of this place.

saturday mornings

I love sunny summer saturday mornings, mornings that shimmer with the promise of a new day. I love rolling out of bed and throwing on my yoga togs, strapping on my chaco sandals, and hitting the sidewalks. I love strolling the farmers market and talking to my favorite farmers, colleagues, artists, and new friends. I love stopping at my favorite local sandwich shop for a cup of strong alterra brew. I love walking back home, my tote bag filled with veggies--asparagus, spring onions, baby lettuces, spinach, and fresh mini-mozzarella balls. I love gathering up my yoga mat and driving to my gym, where I can stretch out, explore my boundaries, consider my edge, before heading back home to cook up a saturday lunch of roasted yukon golds with rosemary, a salad with baby greens, roasted chickpeas, fresh mozz, and a tangy lemon honey vinaigrette, and finally, a scrambled egg with spinach, asparagus, and green onions. I brave the damp fog that blows in off the lake and sit on my deck, planning my next step, or not planning at all. Laundry and garden need tending to, but so does the stack of enticing books--amy bloom, kate christensen, anita shreve, russ parsons, and carly phillips. Could every day be as wonderful?

"these are the days that must happen to you"

There comes a moment every Spring, well, since I've been professor-ing, when I shift from teaching full-time and reading student work (the good, the bad, the surprising, the dreadful...) to teaching part-time or no-time and having my time fluid and free yet again. As glorious as this freedom is--freedom from alarm clocks and packing lunches and snacks and grading, good lord, the grading)--it's an adjustment.

Last week, after the Florida mini-break, I went to "faculty camp," a several days long series of workshops and fellowship with fellow teaching faculty. I learned some nifty ideas to apply in the fall, and some good ideas to think about over the summer for the sustainability project I'm coordinating in the fall.

So this week has been my week of transitioning, and it's going fairly well. I'm staying up later than usual reading. I just finished Kate Christensen's The Great Man, which won (and is most deserving of) the PEN/Faulkner award. Now I'm debating reading for class--my International Literature class starts next week--reading for sustainability--the theme that I need to develop ASAP--or to read for sheer pleasure. The scales are tipped in favor of the latter.

On this rainy Tuesday, I walked downtown in the drizzle for a cup of Alterra coffee made strong, at the local breakfast/lunch joint that serves my favorite brew. I meandered home, sent a few emails (my many inboxes are exploding with unanswered messages), made lunch (homemade spinach and parm pizza--the trick to a great crust is leaving the dough in the fridge several days), and then headed to She-town for some supply gathering. Grassfields milk, both skim and whole (I have thoughts of a vanilla bean ice "milk"), Alterra beans for home, and various other goodies. I walked up and down the aisles of TJMaxx looking for surprises (Vera Wang notecards and Scharrfen-Berger tasting squares of chocolate), reveling in the fact that I didn't really need to be doing anything else.

I lingered over dinner preparation--a faux salad nicoise, with petite yukon golds (not local, not organic, but still tasty), local asparagus, garbanzos, and local spring onion, tossed with my good olive oil and a squeeze of lemon; an omelet with yuppie hill eggs, local organic spinach, and saxony cheese from Saxon creamery. Add a slice of toast made with whole wheat amish bread and a glass of Chilean Cabernet Rose, and it was a stunning meal of simplicity. What a lovely turn away from heavy soups and roasted things.

The lilacs are blooming, the garden is planted, and winter is over. My eyes are open for everyday miracles and subtle surprises, and my heart is slowly opening to a new season with endless possibilities. My mind is cracked open for new projects, new perspectives, and establishing new neural pathways for positivity.

And before I veer off into new-agey nonsense, I bid you a lovely evening, my dear readers.

beach weekend

Memorial Day weekend my family and I convened in Florida for a mini-vacation, a time to reconnect with each other after a long, busy winter. As glorious sunshine and heat streamed down and the wind swept the gulf into undulating ruffles of water, we chatted, laughed, golfed, ate, walked, wandered, and cried.

A few favorite moments:

1. Attempting to play nerf football on the beach with wind blowing the light-weight, aerodynamic toy off course. Mom and I stayed safely on the shore while Dad and L. manned the water line.




2. Sitting at the beach bar at the Don Cesar, a luxurious, storied, PINK hotel in St. Pete Beach. L. enjoyed a wheat beer, Dad a crown on the rocks, Mom a lemon sipper, and I delighted in a Florida freeze, a minty, limey, slushy, boozy confection. We watched a plane fly across the ocean, dragging a sign congratulating Terry on her Sweet 16, and we overheard the squeals of delight over the pulsating beat of Usher from the aforementioned birthday soiree at the other end of the hotel.




3. Some utter silliness in the car with Mom, involving food related mishaps.

4. An afternoon in Safety Harbor, where we parked under the shade of the Banahoff Live Oak, a towering beauty of 300-500 years age, romantically draped in Spanish Moss. We also enjoyed a lovely visit with Lois, the proprietress of Safety Harbor Antiques and Collectibles, SHAC, and "docent" of S.H.A.C.'s five cent tour of the town, given via a hand-drawn "ladies map" (all context and landmarks and no directions) and a pink highlighter. She gave us a thorough yet brief history of the town and highlighted points of historical, artistic, and quirky interest. She's delightful, and I would go back to Safety Harbor just to see her and the famous tree.

a day at the farm: saxon creamery

photo taken by J.K. and ever so graciously shared with me

"Eating is an agricultural act," writes agrarian philosopher and author Wendell Berry. I've been thinking about the ethics and practice of eating lately, partly because I'm coordinating our campus' Common Theme for next year. We've selected the tagline "It's Easy Being Green" to energize folks on campus to think and act more sustainably. The theme will be carried out through intellectual inquiry, classroom tie-ins, practical changes, and nifty programming. I can't wait! Truth be told, I'm more than a little nervous to be coordinating this initiative, but I have so much help that I know it will be a collective effort and it will be wonderful.

My personal focus for the project (because I can't possible DO everything, just coordinate everything) is two-fold: green food issues and eco-literature. One of the primary goals of the green food issue is to explore local food connections. So, when I recently received an email from the Southeast Wisconsin Slow Food Convivium inviting me to tour a local dairy farm, I quickly signed up and invited my friends.

And so, on a windswept Saturday in mid-may, A, J, and I drove to Saxon Creamery in Cleveland, Wisconsin for a morning of tasting and touring. Our tour began with a brief history of the farm; you can check out their excellent website for more information on their history and excellent cheeses. We then toured the production facility, a spotless and cool converted beer warehouse (only in Wisconsin, right?). We peered through a series of windows to see the gleaming stainless equipment, white cheese-shaping molds, and marveled at 16 pound wheels of cheese floating in salt-water brine baths. Racks of cheeses lined the last room, the aging room, where the temperature and humidity is carefully monitored to simulate a cave.

While we were touring the facility, Elise had shaved off generous slices of the three cheeses: Big Ed, Saxony, and Grassfields. When Jerry brought us back into the front room, we enjoyed endless slices of cheese, trying to detect the subtle differences in the cheeses, from the sweet&salty Big Ed, to the nutty Saxony, to the creamy&buttery&tangy Grassfields. I love each of the cheeses and have a hard time settling on a favorite, though later that day I bought a wedge of the Saxony (for comparison, think of a mountain cheese, like and aged Fontina). Jerry surprised us all with bottles of maple syrup from the farm as take-aways.

We then drove through downtown Cleveland, bustling with Saturday morning rummage sales and the quintessential Wisconsin celebration, the Brat Fry. After driving over the interstate, we pulled over on the side of the road, and saw the farm spread before us under billowing clouds. To our right was a ten acre woodlot (home of the maple syrup) and surrounding us were fields of grass and specks of cows far in the distance.

Our tour concluded at the farmstead, where Jerry explained the seasonal process of breeding, and how calves are taught/encouraged to pasture. We gazed at a small field filled with adorable calves gently mooing and staring at us (likely wondering what the dumb humans were up to now). One paricular caramel colored calf stared straight at us, looking happy and sweet.

We then traipsed over to the farmstead where Jerry explained what each of the red wood buildings was used for, and then took us into the milk parlor. This milking facility is modeled after New Zealand farms, where the comfort of the cows is paramount and human comfort is secondary.

Jerry's passion for pastured, grass-fed dairy is palpable, and his dedication to this particular farm and its bounty is deep. His message to us was to supprt farms such as his and to support our local communities. Education and knowledge about our food has the power to change all of our lives--producers and consumers.

I don't feel virtuous or self-righteous as much as I feel committed to truly knowing this place where I now live. And I feel a deep gratitude to the farmers whose labor is invisible in the foods that grace my plate so many times each day. I want to really think about the lives that have contributed to my food--human and non-human alike--and to truly appreciate and support them through the power of my fork.

journeys

I love shutting the door to my bedroom at night and being enclosed in soothing darkness. I turn my alarm clock away, and snuggle in to crisp sheets and a plethora of pillows. After a quick week of early mornings, there's nothing like a Saturday when I can wake up when I please, turning the alarm clock to see just how many hours I slept. Nine sounds about right:)

Last weekend I met Mom in Chicago for a quick trip, and we had a lovely time, though this trip was marked by unexpected deviations from the very loose plan. My train was cancelled, and so I decided to drive to the city. In the city. Downtown Chicago. When my nerves would start to frazzle, I reminded myself that driving in Atlanta is in some ways more challenging. Despite a little extra space and a lot more $$ spent on parking said car, we had a pleasant, quiet time.

We discovered Quartino, an Italian tapas restaurant where wine is served in 1/4 carafes, and the atmosphere is hip and fun. We also hit Cafe Spiaggia, my perennial favorite, for soup and pasta and gelato and a very dreamy waiter. And, of course, no trip to Chicago is complete without a stop at Vosges Haut Chocolates and Intelligentsia Coffee. I bought a black cat espresso bar and a bag of beans, Persephone and Harmony, I believe the blend is called, and am stretching both out as long as possible.

The previous weekend I traveled to Waukesha, just outside of Milwaukee, for an English Department meeting. What fun! My friend/colleague A. and I circled around "historic downtown Waukesha" in search of a little bakery or cafe for breakfast but wound up at the ever-ubiquitous Starbucks instead. What fun to read and hear poetry and prose from talented writers, to discuss new approaches to teaching, and to simply form connections with other English Profs.

And now, here I am, spending a quiet Saturday morning at home, drinking the aforementioned Intelligentsia coffee and luxuriating in the calm before the storm--storm of end-of-the-semester grading, that is. I have books to return to the library, packages to mail at the post office, and (hopefully) veggies to buy at the farmer's market. But for now, a quiet (seems to be a popular word with me this morning) spell at home is fitting and right.

opera cake

dharmagirl here... so music chick is here visiting me, all the way from Michigan. Hooray! since the wind was howling and the SNOW swirling all day, we decided to stay in and:
a) learn the solja boy dance via the youtube instructional video;
b) watch *the starter wife*; and
c) bake. after much poring over my extensive baking cookbooks and amassed foodie mags, we settled on the ambitious OPERA CAKE in Dorie Greenspan's *Paris Sweets* cookbook. We had to make a few adjustments, eschewing Dorie's advice NOT to halve the cake recipe (we did because I only have 1 jelly roll pan and neither of us wanted to leave the house to ask my neighbor B if she had such a pan), and selecting an alternative coffee buttercream recipe from Regan Daley's *In the Sweet Kitchen* because Dorie's recipe required a candy thermometer, and, well, I don't actually have one (the horror!).

Step One: divide and perform the tasks.
dharmagirl: everything egg-y, including separating 5 eggs, and making two different meringues. folding aforementioned meringue number one into the cake base. making a true buttercream using aforementioned meringue number two. chopping chocolate.
music chick: grinding everything. i mean, almonds. mixing the base of the cake. clarifying butter. making the coffee syrup. creating the ganache.

Step Two: comment on the process, contemporaneously and retrospectively.
music chick: i carried out the duties of the sous chef. it is by far the most complicated and beautiful cake i have ever been a part of. and this has been one of my favorite days in a long time.

dharmagirl here. what great fun we've had! this cake is BEYOND. well, we haven't actually eaten any yet because it has to CHILL, but the components are delicious. what a perfect antidote to a CRAPTASTIC (thank you, craptastic carl, one of music chick's potential suitors who earned a gold star for LAMENESS back in the day) day: good friends, great conversation, glamorous cake. Thank you for the most lovely visit, music chick!!!

contemplative

This past week has been a very internal week, a drawing inward, a retreat from the world, a quest to find answers and the next best steps on the path of my life. At the end of a week, I don't have many answers, and though part of me craves a continuing interiority, I know that it's time to be out of my head and into the world. I'm ready to stretch my legs out over dry sidewalks and run through neighborhoods, run through fields, run with-and not to or away from-my thoughts. To make this path literal, to explore new territory, to clear away old patterns and forge new trails. (alas, I'm slipping into cliches...)

My week of thinking was spurred by viewing a very fine production of *Agnes of God,* a play that gripped my psyche in subtle and not so subtle ways. Issues of motherhood, of faith, of reason, of love all swirled together, interweaving with news of friends undergoing fertility treatments and giving birth, to create a powerful wave of thinking. And longing. Or not.

And now Spring, beloved, ravishing, aching, unrequited Spring begins to tiptoe into town, dispelling winter gloom with the promise of glorious fecundity.

It's all a little overwhelming.

primavera...

Spring Break is a lovely tradition, though supreme sadness descends when the week ends and I must finish the semester in a mad push to the end. Spring Break typically symbolizes the tail end of winter and the around-the-cornerness of spring, hoorah! This winter, however, likes to linger. Yesterday we received 8 inches of snow in Western Michigan. I was worried that my drive back to Dairyland would be fraught or postponed, but the roads were clear, the sun bright, and music lilting. I hauled my bags of provisions--CHARD, Koeze's peanut butter, grazing fields eggs, bionaturae whole wheat pasta and crushed tomatoes, Uncommon Grounds coffee, sencha vanilla tea, two kinds of artisan bread from the Journeyman Cafe--into the house, made a quick pasta dinner, and turned on a little Spartan basketball, and tried to stretch vacation just a teensy bit longer...

And now here I am, with my large piles of student papers mostly graded, and just a few grants and proposals to craft before this week becomes too crazy-busy.

I'm starting to feel the call of lightweight, floaty dresses; tissue-tees; bright colored prep-ster capris a la jcrew; shiny, brightly colored flats; and fresh, shimmery, glossy make-up. Spring fashion delights me more than any other seasonal garb!

road trippin'

Today my friend B and I headed across the fair dairyland state to attend an awesome conference, chat it up with some fellow professor types, and forage for good eats after our minds were filled with new ideas.

First, we visited a candy store that carries Vosges exotic candy bars--I purchased my ever favorite Barcelona bar (dark milk chocolate, smoked almonds, and grey sea salt). We found a groovy little grocery store that featured organic produce and natural/organic goodies. I bought a bouquet of organic CHARD (hoorah!) and a small paper bag full of organic yukon gold potatoes. Tomorrow I'll make a simple dish of sauteed chard, garlic, mashed yukon golds, and olive oil. Yummm. Then we browsed in a used book store, where I bought my very own copy of Jhumpa Lahiri's pulitzer prize winning short story collection The Interpreter of Maladies for six dollars. Then it was back in the car in search of caffeine and all we could find was the ubiquitous Starbucks. We drove the rolling hills of central Wisconsin and found our way to Green Bay, where we drove through town on a whim and serendipitously settled into spicy goodness at Nukeo Thai. Delish!

I'm happy to report that Green Bay seems alive and thriving even with the news of Brett Favre's retirement, which has broken a few hearts and induced many a tear to fall across this great state this week. (note: if you would've told me a year ago that I would blog about Brett Favre, not just once but on multiple occasions, I would've been full of scoff and snark).

natal day

These gorgeous pink and white tulips, imported from the netherlands, are a bday gift from my parents, who brought them to me all the way from the other holland!

I feel blessed today--the small acts of kindness and thoughtfulness have lessened the sting of turning 34, and have reminded me of what's truly important--family, friends, loving kindness, and shared time.

And chocolate.

My "sally" moments ("but I'm going to be 40...someday") will continue to flit in and out of my consciousness, but for now I'm glad, and so grateful that I know so many wonderful people who share their lives with me in a multitude of ways.